It was such a personal request, so unnecessary to the goal of conception. At the last second, my innate common sense kicked in.
Kissing would not further the mission.
“Please,” I whispered.
He stroked inside me with a single deep thrust that made me come at once.
“Fuck,” he murmured against my lips as my vaginal walls gripped him fiercely. “You feel … so … tight. So … good.”
“You have to?—”
“I know, Francesca. I’ve … got it from here.” He rocked into me, rolled out, maintained the rhythm as those hunter green eyes bored into my soul. Filling me completely, he moved inside, finding points of pleasure I never knew existed.
He moved a hand to where we were joined, his fingers parting my sensitive flesh and stroking my clitoris.
“That’s it, baby. You’re gonna come for me again.”
That had never happened. Sometimes it wouldn’t even happen once, but apparently Jason Isner knew more about my body than I did. Waves of sensation were starting to build and build and build until I could contain it no longer. I moaned as the release wrung me out and left me limp.
He cupped under my thigh and thrust once, twice, three times, finally unloading a roar of pleasure and a flood of heat and baby dreams inside me.
He stilled, but stayed, as if remaining inside me would create some sort of protective barrier, allowing his boys to reach their goal without hindrance. Scientifically, this was absurd, but unscientifically … I was not opposed.
I loved how he felt. Inside, outside, all around.
He lay his forehead against mine. “I have a good feeling about this.”
So do I. But did I mean the baby or something else?
After a moment, I let out the breath I’d been holding. “I-I have to go through my routine.”
“Right.” He slid out, dare I say, reluctantly? Ludicrous, Franky. Absolutely ludicrous. “What do you need?”
“Pillows.”
He passed two over and I placed them under my butt, raising my hips. I was just about to put the coverlet over my body when he beat me to it. Either he was extremely sensitive to my needs, or he didn’t want to look at me any longer.
“I’ll just clean up.”
“Okay.”
You bet I looked as he headed to the bathroom—that hockey butt was amazing. This whole experience had been amazing, a once in a lifetime opportunity. As I fingered the knots in the scarf on my wrist, I focused on wishing for conception, praying that his puck found the net. I was suddenly tired, worn out from the drive and the stress of arriving late, as well as the anxiety of sex with a hockey god.
Though that had been lovely. A memory to treasure, especially if it resulted in the ultimate gift of all.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Jason
* * *
She had dozed off by the time I came out of the bathroom, curled up under the covers, dreaming about being a mom, or maybe dreaming about what had just happened.
Wishful thinking, Isner.
As for me, I was awake and dreaming, because that was probably the hottest sex I’d ever experienced.
Was it the fact we didn’t like each other before? Was it the sneaking around? Was it because she wanted this kid so badly that she was prepared to go to any lengths to get it, even hooking up with a guy she didn’t respect much? Or maybe it was just super sexy to go raw and know your seed was making a mad dash for the finish line, that biological imperative taking over and making everything so goddamn fucking primal.
